Something small triggers it. This time it was the sound of pages sticking together as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. Such is the nature of humid conditions. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.
Respected individuals of his stature often possess a strange aura. They are not frequently seen in the public eye. One might see them, yet only from a detached viewpoint, viewed through a lens of stories, memories, and vague citations whose origins have become blurred over time. With Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw, I feel like I know him mostly through absences. Devoid of theatricality, devoid of pressure, and devoid of excuse. Those missing elements convey a deeper truth than most rhetoric.
I once remember posing a question to someone regarding his character. Without directness or any sense of formality. Just a lighthearted question, much like an observation of the sky. The individual inclined their head, gave a slight smile, and replied “Ah, Sayadaw… very steady.” The conversation ended there, without any expansion. At the time, I felt slightly disappointed. In hindsight, I see that reply as being flawless.
The time is currently mid-afternoon in my location. The day is filled with a muted, unexceptional light. For no particular reason, I am seated on the floor instead of the furniture. Maybe my back wanted a different kind of complaint today. I keep thinking about steadiness, about how rare it actually is. Wisdom is often praised, but steadiness feels like the more arduous path. Wisdom allows for admiration from a remote vantage point. Steadiness, however, must be embodied in one's daily existence.
Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw lived through so much change. Political upheavals, societal transitions, and cycles of erosion and renewal that characterizes the modern history of Burma. And yet, when people speak of him, they don’t talk about opinions or positions. Instead, they highlight his unwavering nature. It was as though he remained a stable anchor while the world shifted around him. I am uncertain how such stability can be achieved without becoming dogmatic. That balance feels almost impossible.
I frequently return to a specific, minor memory, even if I am uncertain if my recollection is entirely accurate. A monk adjusting his robe, slowly, carefully, with the air of someone who had no other destination in mind. That person may not have been Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw himself. Recollections have a way of blending people's identities. But the feeling stuck. That impression of not being hurried by external pressures.
I frequently ponder the price of living such a life. Not in a dramatic sense. Just the daily cost. The subtle sacrifices that appear unremarkable to others. Missing conversations you could have had. Allowing false impressions to persist without rebuttal. click here Allowing others to project whatever they need onto you. I cannot say if he ever pondered these things. Maybe he was beyond such thoughts, which could be the entire point.
There is a layer of dust on my hands from the paper. I clean my hands in an unthinking manner. Writing these words feels a bit unnecessary, and I mean that kindly. There is no requirement for every thought to be practical. Sometimes it’s enough to acknowledge that certain existences leave a lasting trace. never having sought to explain their own nature. Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw feels like that to me. A presence to be felt rather than comprehended, perhaps by design.